Lap Dancing Dangerous
by Gomes
Summary: [GC] When Gil dismisses Catherine’s theory, she goes to great length to prove to him that her assumption is correct.
1. The Fantasy Rooms

TITLE: Lap Dancing Dangerous  
  
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)  
  
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K  
  
TYPE: GCR (what else?)  
  
RATING: R to NC-17  
  
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .  
  
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.  
  
SUMMARY: When Gil dismisses Catherine's theory, she goes to great length to prove to him that her assumption is correct.  
  
NOTES: This idea came to me of recent. I'm giving Sara a chance, in my fic. At least this way, she does what I want her to do. evilgrin  
  
Cheers!  
  
--------------  
  
(Chapter One)  
  
Jim Brass walked up to the building and looked up at the red flashing sign. "Welcome to the Can-Can Room." He muttered to himself as he spotted the familiar Tahoe pull up in the space behind him. He watched as three CSIs stepped out of the car and headed towards him, kits in tow.  
  
"Zachary Garber, age 21. Male Caucasian, bachelor party." Jim filled them in.   
  
Gil Grissom stepped into the building, immediately feeling uncomfortable. He tried to keep his eyes on the back of Jim's head, listening to some general information about the club.  
  
"Oldest strip club with naked women, going some more than 30 years in the business." Jim added.  
  
"Let's just hope the women aren't as old as the club." Catherine replied sarcastically, not the least bit fazed by half naked women putzing around. She glanced back at Sara Sidle, who had been looking at them as if they were creatures from another planet. "It's just a job, Sara." Catherine reprimanded the young CSI.   
  
Sara muttered an apology and walked sluggishly behind Catherine, almost as if a daughter being scolded by her mother.   
  
Jim chuckled, and nodded towards Gil. "Meanwhile, he's acting as if he's never been in a place like this before."   
  
Catherine turned her head to look in the direction where Gil had wandered off. "Knowing Gil. . ." She left the statement hanging. He was standing in the doorway of a public strip, his head cocked to one side, intently studying the woman dancing on stage. "Hey." Catherine popped up beside him, suppressing an evil grin at his resulting reddening face. "Maybe you can request an encore." She pointed at the woman who was finishing off her dance.   
  
Gil looked down on the floor, fearing that the next place he would look, another scantily dressed woman would mysteriously appear. "To understand the victim, you have to understand the suspect."  
  
"And you think that a stripper killed Mr. Garber?" Catherine asked, glancing over at the men slipping twenties in the woman's g-string, some getting angry when no attention was lavished their way. "Isn't that jumping the gun?"  
  
"Who said I was looking at the stripper?" Gil asked, with a raised eyebrow. He stuck his thumb up and pointed his index finger at her, creating a makeshift gun with his hand. "Bang."   
  
Catherine grinned and watched him join Brass and Sara. She looked back at the table-dancers and then headed to the crime scene.  
  
"Welcome to Paradise." Jim held the tape for the three CSIs. "Seven rooms deemed 'Fantasy Rooms' complete the roster for their evenings. Open from 7:30pm until about 4:00am, so expect the vic to have seen his demise between those times."  
  
"But the room is used many times, a single private dance lasts about an hour max, goes for upwards of seventy dollars." Catherine added, moving aside an array of beads suspended from the ceiling, creating another makeshift door. "So expect the vic to have expired somewhere later in the night."  
  
"What *is* that smell?" Sara commented, putting the back of her hand to her mouth.  
  
"Smells like ... almonds?" Gil kept a straight face and looked at Catherine for support.   
  
"Bitter." Catherine nodded, grimacing.  
  
"How do you do that?" Sara asked Gil, noticing that even Jim had his handkerchief out.   
  
"Do what?" He asked, stepping closer to the body. He pulled out his flashlight and shone it from different angles.  
  
"Not gag." Sara closed her eyes, feeling her meal resurfacing. "How about I interview some people?" She offered, her voice tense and lacking breath.  
  
Gil nodded and looked to Brass. "Cath and I will process the scene."   
  
Brass nodded and escorted Sara out of the room.  
  
"Hey Sara!" Catherine called after her. "Remember, strippers are people too." A Cheshire smile appeared on her face off Gil's look of amused disapproval. Catherine looked around the room after having rummaged through her kit. "So how do you suppress your urge to vomit?" Catherine asked, her voice slightly muffled by the face-mask she was now sporting.  
  
Gil shrugged and flashed her a crooked smile. "I just think about," he paused, looking at her for a moment, then letting his eyes travel about, "other things." He bent down near the victim. "Crime of passion, as usual?" He asked, a hint of a smile playing across his lips.  
  
Catherine grinned. "Man's bachelor party. His friends all pool in together to buy him a private dance."   
  
"*Two* private dances." Gil read from the file, pursing his lips.  
  
Catherine's eyes automatically zoomed in, and she forced herself to concentrate on the body and not on her supervisor's pout. She cursed her dire need to jump him at every turn. "Hundred and forty bucks. Wow." She looked at the body. "Would you pay that much for two dances?" She asked, mischievously.  
  
"Depends on who's giving them." Gil replied with equal roguishness, bending down near the body and seemingly ignoring Catherine's shocked expression. He finally acknowledged her reaction with an impish grin and opened his kit. "Shall we explore this 'Fantasy', my dear?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.  
  
Catherine let out a breathy laugh. "If you tell me to recreate the moments before the crime, then I'll start asking questions." She smiled, enjoying her supervisor's playful mood.   
  
***  
  
Her thick Brooklyn accent forced Sara to pay even more attention. Brow furrowed, she leaned in closer to the woman. "So we continued, y'know? Roughed around - I like that stuff. Bruises are like my trophies. And then he just sat down in the chair - said he was tired. I guess, he just finished with another session. And then he grabbed his chest and plop."   
  
Sara looked at Jim, perplexed. "Plop?"  
  
"Ya. . ." The stripper paused and pointed southwards. "Plop." She said, in a deeper voice. "And when I went to ask him what's wrong, he didn't move. His eyes were open but . . ." She shrugged.  
  
"Were you the last to see Mr. Garber alive, Miss," Sara trailed off.  
  
"Sasha Lova." She smiled, seemingly proud of her stage name.  
  
"Sasha . . . Lova." Sara nodded slowly, dawning a fake smile. "Nice." She muttered under her breath, knowing that Nick would kill for this shift. She looked at the plastic-doll-of-a-woman that was seated in front of Jim and her, wearing nothing but a bright pink thong.  
  
"You're not going to flaunt this case in front of poor Nick, now are you?" Jim leaned over and whispered into Sara's ear with an amused undertone.  
  
"Ooh yea." Sara laughed. "Maybe I am sadistic." She added, as an afterthought.  
  
"I know that Denny Deeder had him before I did." Sasha offered.   
  
Jim and Sara both nodded, Jim shaking the offered hand while Sara just gave a polite wave.   
  
"I guess we have to find this," Jim paused awkwardly, "Denny Deeder."  
  
Sara shook her head. "And find out when she 'deed' him."  
  
–TBC– 


	2. Attack of the Heart

CHAPTER TWO (R)  
  
-----------------------------  
  
  
  
Gil bent down at the waist, eyes squinting, and observed the victim. He pushed open the victim's unbuttoned shirt, and trailed his finger across the man's chest. He straightened, and held his latexed finger up to the dimmed light. "What do you make of this?" He held up his index finger to Catherine, who was kneeling on the floor, looking through the man's personals.  
  
Catherine eyed him. "It looks like goo." She stated plainly.   
  
"Smell it." He coaxed her.   
  
She looked at him oddly and shook her head, but finally relented. "Smells like some kind of oil." She crinkled her nose, trying to pinpoint the smell. "It smells kind of familiar, though the vapors seems to be single-handedly destroying my nasal cavity." She muttered, riffling through Zachary Garber's bag.  
  
"Smells like almonds." Gil said, leaning close to the victim's chest and inhaling.   
  
Catherine glanced quickly at him. "Careful Gil, you're in quite a compromising situation." She grinned. "Don't want to give anyone the wrong impression."  
  
"Who am I trying to impress?" He shot back, mischief clouding his sharp blues. Their eyes battled, knowing that they were but a step away from crossing the line between flirtatious banter and . . . his eyes mellowed. "Did you find anything?"  
  
"Well, let's see here." Catherine dangled a bottle in front of Gil, who was now kneeling beside her.   
  
"Almond oil?" Gil raised his eyebrow.  
  
"Apparently it does wonders for your skin."  
  
"Experience?" Gil asked, a twinkle in his eye.  
  
"Knowledge." She retorted, shutting him up.  
  
Gil put his hands up in defence. "I'll take your word on it." He muttered. He looked back at the deceased. "So, could the dancer enjoy the contrast of bitter oils to the sweet smell of . . ." He stopped himself with shy grin. He glanced over at his companion, his eyes slowly roaming her body. "What did you use?" He asked, unashamed.  
  
Catherine's brow furrowed and she gave him a playful whack on the shoulder. She leaned over, dropping her voice down to a husk. "I prefer just old-fashioned sweat." She whispered softly, and held back a smile when she heard him groan.  
  
Gil couldn't help his mind's eye wander, especially hearing her use the present-tense. He conjured up images of her body, slick with her sweat, sliding along side his.  
  
Catherine gazed into his eyes, seeing them darken with a veil of concoction - she knew what he was visualizing, and she dropped her head to her chest, hiding her secret smile. "So, uh, if it is the dancer's oil, what is it doing in the victim's bag?"  
  
Gil's clouded eyes cleared and he shrugged. "Souvenir?"   
  
"So, we questioned both the girls that entertained this lucky bastard for the evening." Jim explained, as he and Sara walked in.  
  
"Did any mention a fetish for almond oil?" Gil asked, standing up, holding the small bottle between his index and his thumb.  
  
Sara shook her head but put her finger up. "Wait - that first one, Sasha - her skin glistened, but not like sweat. . ." She trailed off, looking from Gil, to Catherine and finally to Jim. "What?" Then it dawned on her. "Uh, no - I wasn't looking - I . . . I'm a CSI damnit, it's my job to notice!" She exclaimed.  
  
Catherine smiled. "Don't worry, Sara - I'm sure Jim can vouch for your observations." She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, motioning Jim ogling a poster.  
  
"Hey Grissom." Jim called out. He pointed to the woman's nipple. "What do you think?"   
  
Gil stepped up beside Jim and both men stood there, heads cocked to the side, staring intently at the naked woman's breast. "It looks odd, misshapen a bit." He commented and spun around when he heard Catherine clear her throat.   
  
"I know the human body is considered a masterpiece, but this is ridiculous!" She pointed to their critique of the poster-girl's nipple.   
  
Gil raised his eyebrow and turned back to the poster. He stood on the balls of his feet, giving him a little more height, and passed a finger across the shiny photo-finish of the image.  
  
Catherine bit down on her tongue upon witnessing such an accidental intimate act by her supervisor. She closed her eyes, trying to force the sexual tension that had been building up for well over seventeen years, out of her system, but the image of Gil's hands - gloved or not - caressing her breasts were too pleasing to pass up.  
  
"Ah-ha! Caught you. . ."  
  
Catherine's eyes grew wide at the sound of Gil's rich tenor voice, thinking she'd been caught mid-way through one of her fantasies. She breathed a sigh of relief as her eyes focussed on the back of the team's head - all of whom seemed to have ventured to the lude image. She walked up, standing on tippy-toes, looking over Gil's shoulder. She tried to inhale discreetly, wanting to brand his scent in her memory, threatening her senses to never forget his distinct smell, one that just emanated comfort.  
  
Gil held up a translucent circular piece of material. "Dark on one side, see-through on the other." A lopsided grin soon followed. He glanced back up at the poster where a hole now lay, gawking back at them.  
  
"Implosion." Jim muttered under his breath and then glanced at the team. "What?" He laughed, off their grimaces.  
  
Catherine picked up a chair and climbed up. "Where there's a will, there's a camera." She said, picking up a camcorder.   
  
Jim shook his head. "Someone likes to make movies." He observed, reading the sticker underneath the camcorder, clearly marked 'Garber'.  
  
"All the World's a stage. . ." Gil gestured, spreading his arms in the room.  
  
"Let's get back to the lab, we'll keep an officer here until David can pick-up the body." Catherine suggested.  
  
"And just when I was getting used to the smell." Sara mumbled, almost running out of the room.  
  
***  
  
"Oh! Hey!!"   
  
Gil cringed upon hearing the high-pitched voice. He turned around, coming face to face with a, as Sara had aptly described it, glistening chest. His eyes flicked downwards and he jumped slightly, upon feeling an elbow in the rib. He glanced at Catherine, surprise etched on his face.  
  
"You were staring." She whispered sweetly. "Hi, I'm Catherine Willows." She stuck her hand out amicably.  
  
"Sasha Lover." The woman responded. "My boss told me you wanted to see me?"  
  
" . . . a little too much." Sara grinned.  
  
Gil held up a swab and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it just as fast. He pursed his lips, trying to think of the best way to approach the subject.  
  
"Look, can we swab your breasts?" Catherine asked casually. She smiled as the woman nodded, proceeded to get a sample and turned to leave the building. She walked by Gil, without even as much as a glance. ". . . mouth." She reminded him with a smirk.  
  
***  
  
" . . . what?!" The thick Texan accent echoed through the halls. "And I got a dead eighty-year old that may or may not be a homicide, that may or may not have eaten bad corn . . . accidentally!?"   
  
Warrick grinned, walking alongside Sara and Nick. "Tough luck, man."  
  
"What are you so chipper about - this isn't your case either." Nick observed. "I thought this was your day off."  
  
"Yea, but I was called in to watch the video they recovered." Warrick provoked. "I'll write you up a review if you want."  
  
The three reached the AV lab where Catherine and Gil were already seated.   
  
"Grissom, how come Warrick gets to watch the porno flick?" Nick asked, glaring playfully at Warrick.   
  
Sara chuckled and took a seat on the other side of Gil, confused at the look Catherine was giving her. The two women held gaze, as the dialogue between Nick and Warrick continued in the background.   
  
Catherine narrowed her eyes, an odd feeling coursing through her veins. She had come to a decision; if the younger CSI nearly as touched Gil, she would not be responsible for her actions. Catherine glowered at Sara, warning her not to make any inappropriate moves.  
  
". . . and further more, I was CSI level three before Warrick!" Nick concluded, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
Catherine glanced at Gil who was now slouched in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. She put a comforting hand on his knee and met his eyes when he jerked his head up, in her direction. "Nicky, you know Warrick specializes in audio-visuals." She reasoned. "Trust me, if we were having some sex romp, you'd be the first person I'd call." She joked, though her eyes caught her heart's desire.  
  
Gil swallowed hard and averted his eyes, pretending to be enthralled by the case review. "Um, let's get started." He said in a shaky voice, images of Catherine and a given 'sex romp' taunting his sanity.   
  
"Alright, alright." Nick relented and began to head to the lab - thinking he might as well be miserable with the lab rat, while waiting for his results.  
  
He whipped around as Greg raced by him. "Ooh, did I miss the previews?" He juggled a steaming bag of popcorn from one hand to the next.  
  
"Greg!" Nick walked up behind him. "You're watching too? What happened to my results?"  
  
"Hodges." Greg mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. He grinned. "I can't believe I'm getting paid to watch this!"  
  
"Grissom!" Nick complained. "How can you let Greg do this?"  
  
"You're right," Gil started and turned to the lab tech, "Greg, no popcorn in the AV room."  
  
Nick chewed on the inside of his cheek and grabbed the bag of popcorn from Greg's hands. "You should all be ashamed." He said, popping a few kernels in his mouth.  
  
"Enjoy your date with Hodges." Warrick called out, as Nick left the room.   
  
Nick stopped and bit down on his tongue, twitched and continued his path to find his 'damsel in distress'.  
  
"Alright, let's get this baby going!" Greg said, rubbing his hands together.   
  
"Greg." Gil shot him a warning glance. "Go close the door." He popped the tape in, and the lights dimmed as the team began to watch.  
  
"Starts off with a shot of an empty room, so whoever put it there, knew the room that Garber was going to be pleasured in." Catherine noted, writing down some notes.  
  
"Maybe Zachary planted the camera there, and then made his entrance?" Sara offered.  
  
"Nah," Warrick began, "I don't think it'll give him enough time to make it, if we go according to the time span on this tape."   
  
"Wait!" Catherine interrupted, "do you see that?" She paused the tape and pointed to the top-right area of the screen. "A finger."   
  
Sara shrugged. "So? We can't really print it, now can we?" She asked sarcastically.   
  
"No, if Zachary and Sasha are already in the room, then who's finger is that?" Gil added, complementing Catherine's observations.  
  
Catherine smiled and continued with the video. She watched the woman gyrate her hips, touch and tease her customer. "There we go." She said, watching as Zachary reached into his bag and handed her a bottle.  
  
"The almond oil." Gil nodded.  
  
"So she rubs it all over her torso - with his help of course . . ." Sara began. "And then what?"  
  
All members of the team grimaced as 'Sasha' fed her breast to Zachary.   
  
"Oh." Sara muttered.  
  
"Ooooh." Greg leaned closer to the television.  
  
They continued watching more dancing, rubbing and gyrating coming from the dancer's direction, until finally Zachary spasmed once and lay limp.  
  
"Reminds me of Nick's 100th case, a while back." Warrick remembered how Nick had beat him to the promotion.   
  
Silence adorned the room, as each person continued watching the glistening woman prod and touch the dead body and then rush out of the room.   
  
Gil stopped the tape. "Warrick?" He asked the level three CSI.   
  
Warrick shrugged. "I'm guessing heart-attack?"  
  
Gil nodded and looked at Sara. "Sara?"  
  
"I think that too." She glanced back at the tape. "Brass checked his records and he didn't have any past medical history involving an allergy to almonds."  
  
Gil finally drew his eyes to Catherine, and he felt a warmth spread all over his body - a feeling he should have been used to by now, since her being always incited tel reaction. "Cath?"  
  
Catherine's eyes danced from one person to the next. "Heart-attack?" She dismissed it. "Trust me, you can *not* get a heart-attack from a lap-dance, no matter how good the dancer claims to be."  
  
"How can you be sure?" Sara asked.  
  
"No man I've given a lap dance to has kicked the bucket." She paused, an impish smile illuminating her features. "They've come close to reaching the bright light, but they've always come back to me." She licked her lips seductively.  
  
Sara could not ignore Catherine's flirtations, and though she was extremely jealous of her and Gil's relationship, she could not help but envy Catherine for not only her looks, but the whole package; Catherine had it all - the beauty, the brains, the confidence, a beautiful child and the heart of the man Sara could only dream about.   
  
Gil cleared his throat. "Well, speculatory evidence would suggest a heart-attack, but I guess we have to wait for Doc Robbins's report."   
  
The team sat in silence until Greg decided to voice his opinions.  
  
"I think we should watch it again, just to be sure."  
  
A collective groan slapped Greg across the face.  
  
***  
  
Catherine and Gil made their way to the morgue where Al Robbins was waiting for them, along with Zachary Garber, his physical-self anyway.  
  
"So you really believe in the heart-attack jazz?" Catherine asked, as they rounded a corner.  
  
Gil shrugged, his tongue resting on his lower lip as he thought. "It seems plausible, Catherine. And there are no other traumas . . . he might have gotten a little too excited."  
  
Catherine rolled her eyes as they pushed open the doors to the morgue. "Doc." Catherine greeted him.  
  
Al smiled and got straight down to business. "He experienced some respiratory failure - there's some bruising to the lungs. I also ran some tests to see about any haemorrhaging in the brain, and found that there was some damage to the central nervous system as well." The coroner handed both CSIs some documentation on his findings.  
  
"What about his heart, doc?" Gil asked, as his eyes scanned the information regarding the deceased's respiratory system.   
  
"The cardiovascular system failed him." Al stated plainly. He pointed to the victim's heart. "See, the tears in the tissue as well as part of the lower ventricle has collapsed."  
  
Catherine looked at him incredulously. "Heart attack?"  
  
Al Robbins nodded. "My guess . . . yeah." He shrugged. "We did find some traces of oil, but I've been informed that it is almond oil. Extremely bitter, but sharp too." Al commented, more to himself.  
  
Gil nodded a thanks and he guided Catherine out of the morgue. They walked towards his office, his smirk leading the way. Stopping in front of his door, he turned and faced his partner.   
  
"Not a word, Gil." Catherine warned him playfully. She pushed past him, stepping into his office. "I can't believe you would really think that he died of a heart-attack!" She plopped down onto his couch.  
  
Gil sighed, and followed suite, opting for his chair. "So, what is your theory then?"   
  
Catherine sat up and grinned, knowing that Gil was well-aware that she had a theory that needed to be voiced. "Okay, 'Sasha' is jealous because Zachary tipped 'Denny' more than her."  
  
Gil nodded. "Okay, petty motive. How's the crime committed."   
  
Catherine felt her toes tingle, loving it when he challenged her. She knew that Gil only provoked stimulation when he believed in one's capabilities, and at the moment, she felt pride rise up and caress her. She then paused, and scrunched up her face.  
  
Gil chuckled softly. "There are no abrasions, no cuts, no external bruises, no evidence that he was smothered or suffocated . . ."  
  
"Maybe so, but he did not have a heart-attack - not at 21, anyway!" Catherine yelled.   
  
Gil sat back in his chair, loving how Catherine got so passionate that she became flustered. She got this glow whenever she truly believed in something, and he couldn't help but acquiesce with her demands. Gil gave her a lopsided grin. "Prove it." He whispered, and he saw her eyes light up.  
  
"Proof?" She nodded, making her way to the little stereo that Gil had, tucked away beside his desk. She plugged it in, and extracted a 'rhythm and beats' CD from her purse. A melodious harmony of drums, xylophones and bongos filled the room as she sauntered towards the door, locking it.   
  
Meanwhile Gil stood up and was now standing in front of his desk, watching her body absorb the music that flitted around.   
  
Catherine moved to the beat, and danced towards Gil. Reaching him, she turned around, facing away and bent down, pressing her rear into the side of his thigh. She straightened abruptly and spun around, facing him. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she walked him backwards, and pushed him down onto the couch.  
  
"Cath," Gil whispered, his voice heavy with a serenade of lust and fear, "what are you doing?"  
  
Catherine dropped to the floor, and 'cat-walked' over to him. "Working my theory. . ."  
  
—TBC— 


	3. A Little Dancing Never Hurt Anyone

CHAPTER THREE (NC-17)  
  
---------  
  
Catherine slowly crawled to him, and reached over, running her hand through his salt and peppered hair.   
  
Gil leaned into her touch, and then let his head drop against the back of the couch. He took deep breaths, trying to calm his hyperactive heart and racing libido. The music in the background still hung in the air, and reached Gil's now-attentive ears. He opened his eyes and looked for her, suddenly missing her touch. His eyes gazed at her body that was almost unaware of his existence; but he knew that this dance was only for him, and his heart swelled with pride. He looked down at his lap, noticing that his heart wasn't the only muscle to be affected Catherine's dancing.  
  
Catherine, though her major focus remained on Gil and his reaction - which left her pleasantly surprised - a stronger, nostalgic rhythm forced her to become one with her body and accept the natural movements that her core created. Her body turned, bent, twisted and jerked to the music. She thought back to her days before her current line of work, when dancing for men *was* just a job - just a way to put food on the table and how her mind would numb itself, letting her body have complete control of her being whenever she went out on stage. It was the only way she could look at herself in the mirror the next day, knowing that it wasn't Catherine Willows that went out and thrived upon the lude tippers but another being that entered her body and just took control. She paused in a compromising position, looking at Gil from between her legs. She slowly rolled up, letting each vertebrae straighten one at a time. She smiled at his eyes, half closed and misty with lust; she was in control. This wasn't a dance to instigate money, this wasn't a job . . . this was her desire, right here, right now. She sauntered over to Gil, who's eyes never left hers as she approached.   
  
"Cath. . ." He wasn't sure whether to make it a question or statement, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he didn't have anything to say. «Or could it be that you *don't* want anything to be said?» His mind questioned him. He sat up straight as Catherine knelt before him, and he tried to push himself further into the couch, afraid that his reaction to the strawberry-blond would give away his darkest secret - his lusting and loving. He was terrified that she would learn of his feelings, thus destroying the relationship that might have always left him hungry for more, but still kept him satisfied until the next meal.  
  
"Just relax, big boy." She licked her lips and placed a hand on each of his knees. Looking him in the eye, she thrust his legs apart, and grazed her nails up his thighs, almost up until his hips. Then, pressing the palms of her hands down, she dragged them back to his knees.  
  
Gil's breathing came out in spurts. "Catherine. . . I - I" He exhaled loudly, his hips lifting off the couch as Catherine's hands began to travel on the inside of his legs.   
  
She stopped right before her hands met together over his imminent arousal, and brought them back to the harbor.   
  
"Cath . . . maybe we shouldn't be doing this." His head was once again resting on the back of the couch, his eyes looking upwards, almost begging a higher-up to never wake him from this dream.   
  
She leaned against him, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to look her in the eye. There was fear in his eyes, but Catherine saw the unmistakable glimmer of lust. She heard it cascade from his lips - saw it travel from his mouth with every breath exhaled. Her next move caught both of them by surprise as she straddled his left thigh. She stood, his leg between both of hers, never breaking eye contact. She moved her hips rhythmically, following the beat that was once forgotten; her pelvis gently brushing against his thigh until her whole body was supported by him. Her hand reached to his chest, and she undid his buttons, slipping her hand in and feeling the warmth of his skin. She felt his heart beat wildly and she knew hers must be following the same drum. She trailed her fingers down to his stomach and felt him inhale sharply. She kept her other hand underneath his chin, forcing him to look at her. Her hand finally travelled down to his arousal and she cupped it, feeling the hardness push back against her. She almost gasped as she saw his eyes darken, and his low moan caressed her ears.  
  
Gil exhaled roughly, his hips bucking against Catherine's hand. He gripped the fabric of the couch tightly, his knuckles turning a pasty white.  
  
Catherine's breath was now as laboured as Gil's - the feel of his denim covered length pulsating in her hand was creating a wave of heat in her core. She ground her pelvis against him every time she gave his erection a squeeze. "Feeling a heart-attack coming on?" She asked in a sultry voice.  
  
"You have no idea." Gil panted. He dropped his head to his chest, trying to regain control of his body. He was close . . . God, every time he was *near* Catherine he was close to his release. He knew Catherine was aware as she had slowed down the ministering she was giving him. "Okay. . ." He tried to catch his breath, "so you made your point."  
  
A melodious laugh snapped his eyes to hers. "*That's* what you call a lap dance?" She grinned at him. His silence confirmed her suspicions. "So, that was the best you'd ever had?" She asked boldly as she dismounted him.  
  
He smiled sheepishly and began to button up his shirt. He sighed, "well, I guess I'm not familiar with that world, now am I?"He looked at her defiantly.   
  
She chuckled. "And here I was, just barely getting warmed-up." She said casually, stretching in front of him, showing off her best assets. A soft moan melted off her lips as she tensed a blocked muscle and then released it. Glancing at him, she saw it again, and again it took her breath away: the carnal-riddled look in his eyes. She watched as the animal-side, the one she suspected of laying dormant inside the docile man, spark to life. It looked as though he was ready to attack her, and though she had backed up to the door, she wasn't afraid. She was waiting for him to pounce, waiting for him to just take her so her desires would finally be fulfilled. «Sometimes the mouse has to provoke the cat in order for the chase to begin.» Smiling at her Grissom-ism.  
  
He lunged at her, pinning her arms against the door. "Look at me." His voice was almost a growl, and electricity crackled between the minute spaces that lay suspended between their bodies.   
  
Her eyes hesitantly opened and she soon found herself mesmerized by the ever darkening royal-blue hues that stared back at her. She didn't struggle against the hold he had on her arms nor did she push against the weight that was crushing her against the door. She just remained still, drowning in the passionate sea of his eyes. "Go on . . ." She whispered.  
  
Gil searched her eyes. His carnal desires still remained authoritevely present, but his love for her was stronger than any of his dreams. He wanted her to feel happy, fulfilled and more importantly safe. He shifted his hold on her, grasping both hands with one of his, and keeping them pinned above her head. His other hand became lost in her hair, finally surfacing near her cheek. "Will you forgive me later?" He caressed her cheek, his eyes clearing up.  
  
His gentle touch caused her to open her heart to his soul even more, if it was physically possible. His request for forgiveness sent shivers down her spine. "I need this, Gil . . . please." She pressed herself against his body, wanting to feel his arousal again. "If it's not to your liking, we'll pretend it never happened." She muttered, close to his ear. She let her tongue glide along the skin encasing the cartilage and nibbled on his earlobe. She sighed aloud as she felt him press into her, pushing her further against the door.  
  
"How could one not be satisfied by making love to you, Catherine?" He asked, trailing his hand down to her breast.  
  
Catherine smiled against his neck, admiring him on an even deeper level. «He thinks it as love, not just sex.» She told herself, knowing that repeating it was the only way that she would believe it. She pushed her chest out as his fingers grazed over a nipple. "To the couch." She offered, letting her tongue glide over the salty skin of his neck.   
  
He dropped her arms, and placed both of his hands on her waist. Without distracting his eyes from hers, he walked backwards, taking her with him. He sat back down on the couch, pulling her, inciting her to once again straddle him. She sat down on his lap. Gil slipped his hand under her form fitting shirt and massaged her through her bra.   
  
"Just . . . just touch me." She begged, guiding his hand underneath her skirt.  
  
He felt her through the cotton material. "Cath. . . these are dangerous waters." He replied shakily. He wanted to give her the opportunity to stop from crossing the line, but his heart wanted her to reveal her being to him.  
  
"I can swim," she exhaled, her head tilted backwards as he continued to rub her through her thin panties.  
  
He smiled as he pushed her panties aside, and watched as her eyes snapped shut as his finger entered her. He loved watching her in the throws of passion, and her reaction fuelled his desire even more, knowing that he was the cause of her pleasure.   
  
She moved slightly on his lap and undid the button and zip of his pants. It was her turn to feel him through his underwear. She watched him, his tongue resting between his teeth and she pulled down the elastic of his boxers and gasped louder than he did when her hand came into contact with his skin, the electricity warming her core even more. She felt him lift his hips off the couch at each stroke.  
  
"Cath," Gil panted, "Cath I need you." He begged her with lusty hope and a sigh of happiness glided out with his exhalation as she positioned herself over him.   
  
Catherine lowered herself onto his arousal, inciting a low grunt from Gil. Throwing her arms around his neck, the two moved together, revelling in the sensation of completion. Butterflies swarmed each of their tummies as they both felt themselves reaching their limits. Catherine raised her head and looked him in the eyes, hoping that they would convey the words she was never able to say.   
  
Gil's eyes pierced hers, and he leaned close to her; his lips but a whisper away from hers. "Catherine." Desire laced her name as he felt her core hug him closer, for he knew that she was close.   
  
Catherine tilted her head, attacking his lips as her climax crashed down, guiding Gil to his release as well. The feel of his lips on hers added to the warm pleasure that buzzed through her body, was too much, and Catherine feared she would black out from the intense feeling.  
  
Gil pushed his tongue inside her mouth as a sense of happiness washed over his body. He remained in her, hearts pounding, lips nipping, body against body. His hand found her breast and he massaged it through her shirt. He lowered his head, tasting the skin of her neck, enjoying the feeling of being surrounded by her.   
  
"Hey Grissom!" The jiggling of the door handle caused both CSIs to snap their heads up.  
  
Catherine jumped off Gil and headed towards the door, straightening out her skirt and top. She glanced back making sure that he was presentable before unlocking the door. "Warrick - sorry, I didn't realize I locked the door." Catherine mumbled, not meeting his eyes.  
  
Warrick's eyebrow rocketed up. "Uh-huh." He looked to his supervisor who was sitting on the couch, folder on his lap, seemingly casual, yet the younger CSI knew that when it came the Graveshift's supervisor, nothing was as it seemed.. Warrick suppressed the urge to mention the fact that the spine of the folder is supposed to bend inwardly, but instead informed the two senior CSIs to meet him in the AV room. He exited with a knowing grin.  
  
Catherine soon followed, turning around to meet Gil's eyes, which seemed to be averted anywhere but in her direction. She opened her mouth to speak, and watched as Gil brushed past her and headed towards the break room. She walked self-consciously towards the AV room, an unsettling feeling evolving with each step taken, the feeling that everyone in the lab was aware of her vulnerability - her impending rejection.  
  
Gil arrived a few minutes behind, bottle of water in hand. He took a seat behind Catherine and merely looked at the screen.  
  
Catherine turned around, giving him a questioning look, and almost whimpered when he wouldn't meet her eyes. She turned around and watched Warrick; inside her heart shattering in response to Gil's rejection bit her trembling lip, trying to keep her emotions in check - she had crossed the line and it had cost her their friendship. Her chest tightened, and she gripped the arms of the chair.  
  
Warrick noticed the exchange, or lack thereof and was at a loss of further actions. He decided the let things play out - circumstances involving Gil and Catherine at opposing ends always seemed to have a natural way of progressing, and he hoped that eventually, both ends would meet. "I zoomed in on the video and here we can see Garber pouring the oils on her chest, right?" He fast-forwarded the video. "After he starts . . . exploring her breasts, he then expires."  
  
"Yeah, we know that, War." Catherine said sharply, the hurt of being rejected now surfacing.  
  
"Well, look here." He paused the tape just before Sasha exited the room. "Look at her face."  
  
Gil pulled up his chair closer to the screen. "She's looking directly at the camera." He glanced up at Warrick who nodded a confirmation. "She knew!" Gil began.  
  
"That's conspiracy." Catherine added, hoping to get Gil's attention, but to no avail. She sighed and offered more information none-the-less. "It's illegal to tape or record any lap dance or private session, but by Sasha's acknowledging the camera, that gives consent."  
  
"I think we need to pay this Sasha another visit." Gil said aloud. "Catherine?" He turned to find her presence missing. He looks to Warrick who only shook his head with a sigh.  
  
***  
  
After having briefly checked the locker rooms for her being, Gil headed out to the parking lot where he spied Catherine waiting for him in her Tahoe. He walked up to the passenger side, and peeked in. "Cath?" He asked cautiously. "You okay?"  
  
Pride kept her eyes focussed straight ahead, and she gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I'm fine." She gritted. She started the SUV and waited for Gil to climb in. Once he had buckled up, Catherine jerked the car into reverse and drove off, heading towards the Can-Can Room.  
  
Gil side-spied her as she drove, knowing that she was well-aware of the tension that seemed to lay suspended in the air. He glanced at the red lights and turned slightly in his seat. "Cath . . ." He reached out for her.  
  
"Not now, Gil." Catherine put her hand up, stopping him, but kept her eyes straight ahead. "Please, not now. . ." She whispered, emotion showing in her eyes.  
  
Gil retreated his hand, and dropped it on his lap. He glanced out the window, his own eyes getting misty. He chewed on the inside of his lip, feeling his insides ache. He sighed, disgusted with himself for taking advantage of her - for ruining the special relationship they already had. His eyes thirsted for her, and he stole a look again, and noted sadness in her eyes. He continued to stare, wondering if she felt the same way, if that it wasn't a regret in her eyes.   
  
"Gil, stop staring!" Catherine yelled, pain evident in her voice. "Please?" Her tone was so vulnerable, Gil felt as if he had been slapped in the face.   
  
"We have to talk about this . . ." He said softly, looking down at his hands in his lap.   
  
She sped up a little. "And we will, after the shift." She replied professionally, ignoring the downcast sigh that floated from his direction.   
  
–TBC– 


	4. Aye There's the Swab

CHAPTER FOUR (Strong R)  
  
--------  
  
Catherine stepped out of the Tahoe, slamming the door shut forcibly; if she couldn't take her frustrations out on a certain supervisor, then an inanimate object would certainly do the trick.  
  
"Catherine." Gil jogged up to reach her.  
  
Catherine turned around abruptly. "What?!" She all but growled. "Whatever you have to say, it's too late to -"  
  
"- you forgot your kit." He interrupted her rant a little too sweetly, resulting in a yearned for glare that sent pleasant shivers down his spine.  
  
Catherine grumbled under her breath, swiping the kit from his hands. She desperately tried to ignore the heat that coursed through her veins when her skin briefly latched on to his, during the exchange; fighting to keep the repercussive thoughts from their sex-driven encounter in his office. «Sex in the boss's office.» She scoffed at the cliché and then a small smirk broke out. «But damn it was good...»  
  
Gil and Catherine stepped into the Can-Can room, greeted by the smell of sex and smoke, wandering around in search for the famed Sasha. Stopping near the changing rooms, they questioned a woman about their suspect's whereabouts and came up empty handed.  
  
"This is hopeless!" Catherine exclaimed. "What if she's on the run?" She leaned against the wall.   
  
Gil observed her, then averted his eyes: the thought of never being able taste heaven again was inflicting a stabbing pain to his heart. His phone rang, and he turned away from her. "Grissom," he more than sighed. After a few moments and a curt word of thanks, he hung up and turned to Catherine. "Well, two things: the first is that the doc observed a weird rash on the DB's hands."  
  
"Does he know what it is?" Catherine asked, still leaning against the wall, her head pressed back against the tacky heart-infested wallpaper.  
  
"No, he ran some tests and is waiting for the results." Gil rested his right arm against the wall, close enough to smell her distinct aroma. He allowed her smell to taunt him, caress his nostrils and indulge his senses. He slowly opened his eyes - her awaiting silence dragging him back to reality. "Seems like Doc Robbins also found the cause of death." Gil paused, leaning against the wall beside her. "He found minute traces of cyanide along the walls of his esophagus and near his heart as well."  
  
"Cyanide?" Catherine's eyes went wide. "How the hell did he get cyanide in his system?"   
  
"Simple, my dear . . ." Gil paused at the slip, and looked down on the floor, embarrassed. "He, uh, ingested it." Gil's brow furrowed.  
  
"How? You just don't pick up a bottle of poison and yell bottom's up!" Catherine remarked sarcastically.  
  
He shrugged. "My guess," he pointed towards a shadow slowly approaching them, "she'll be able to help us."  
  
Catherine stepped up, meeting the woman half-way down the hall. "Miss Lover." She extended her hand. "Catherine Willows - we met before. I was just wondering if I could ask you a few more questions?"  
  
Sasha eyed both CSIs, her eyes trailing up and down Gil's body. "Sure." She kept her gaze focussed on him, until Catherine stepped in between, interrupting her line of view. "C'mon in." She unlocked her door and went inside.  
  
Catherine followed, Gil not far behind. They watched as the dancer began the complex task of make-up removal, involving the presence of some harsh chemicals, creams and soaps. "So, is it true that filming private as well as the public dances is illegal here?"   
  
Sasha glanced at Catherine. "Yeah . . ."  
  
Catherine nodded, and smile coyly. "I mean, it's pretty serious - you could lose your job, even face incarceration."  
  
"Okay . . . and your point?"   
  
Catherine shrugged, "no reason." She eyed Gil who was busy observing his surroundings.   
  
Gil's eyes caught hold the small wicker basket in the corner of the room. "Do you mind?" He asked permission. When Sasha granted him access with a dismissive wave, he bent down and spied an empty box. "You should really recycle." He commented, lifting up a box of saran wrap.  
  
***  
  
Gil sat in the interrogation room, his eyes dancing to the door ever so often, waiting for his 'Venus' to enter. He dropped a piece of saran wrap encased in a clear pouch, on the table. "Care to explain?" Gil asked politely.  
  
Sasha shrugged. "What?" She toyed with the edge of the bag. "I had a sandwich - is that a crime?"  
  
"Depends on the calories, I guess." Jim replied with a sarcastic grunt.  
  
"There were traces of cyanide on this piece of saran wrap." Gil cocked his head to the side, observing her reaction. "Zachary Garber had lethal amounts of cyanide in his system, which after being ingested, ultimately affected his heart, resulting in death."   
  
The exotic dancer remained quiet, eyes on the table.  
  
"So here's *your* problem: we have a murder, and you have the weapon." Jim waved the evidence in her face.   
  
"Captain Brass?" Jim looked up to see a young detective standing at the door, hand clutching the knob out of sheer nervousness. "I - I'm sorry to disturb you but you said -" He stuttered slightly, then silenced by Jim's approach.   
  
They both stepped out, leaving Gil to deal with the suspect. Gil leaned on the table, his eyes narrowing at her chest. "Remember that day when we swabbed your chest?" He waited for Sasha's acknowledged nod. "Well, we got the results back." Gil opened his folder, and placed a paper in front of her. "Sweat, saliva - Zachary Garber's, soap, almond oil and cyanide." He walked over to her, and bent down in front of her. "May I see your breasts?" He tried to remain professional, but he knew his uneasiness was easily spotted.  
  
"Sure, Mr. Grissom." Sasha didn't bother to hide her attraction to the CSI supervisor, as she unabashedly began to remove her top, letting it drop on the table. She got up and directed Gil back to his chair, administering weight to his chest, forcing him to sit down. Next, she slid the straps of her bra off, letting it slide down to her lap. Sticking her chest out, she never took her eyes off the man she felt drawn to. She stood between his open legs, her knee brushing his groin ever so often. She bent down at the waist slightly, her mouth inching towards his ear, "this close enough, Mr. Scientist?"  
  
Gil swallowed hard and took out his magnifying glass. Placing a hand on her pleathered thigh, he leaned close to her. He could smell her scent and it didn't affect his heart-beat in any way: it was still beating an awkward rhythm, complementing his uncomfortable position. He cleared his throat, trying to concentrate on her as a subject and not a pair of breasts thrust in front of him. His thoughts meandered briefly to Catherine, and he felt his lower regions jump. Praying that Sasha wouldn't get the wrong impression, he reached inside his pocket and retrieved a swab. He was about to swab her when the door flew open.  
  
"What the hell is your problem?!"  
  
Gil glanced around the dancer to meet the fury-fed eyes of Catherine Willows. He watched her form approach at an intense speed, and didn't even have time to register her motives, for in the next moment, stars sparkled behind closed eyes. He put his hand to his cheek glancing at her, surprise and disbelief etched in his boyish features. He glanced at Sasha who was just finishing putting on her straps. "I ... uh, I still need a swab of that rash, Miss Lover." He babbled a dazed phrase. He clenched his jaw, still feeling a dull sting - the meaning behind the slap more painful than the execution of it. After swabbing her chest, he sat back down on the chair, and glanced at Catherine, who had wandered to the other side of the room, facing the one-way mirror.  
  
"Why him? Why Zachary Garber?" Catherine asked, watching Gil through the reflective surface. She rubbed her hand up and down her forearm, trying to get the sharp pain to dissipate.  
  
Sasha shrugged. "I think I should get a lawyer."  
  
Gil sighed, leaning back in the chair, as he nodded towards the guard. Watching Sasha exit the room, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.  
  
"What I don't understand is how she knew that it was cyanide and not almond oil." Catherine commented more than asked, trying to regain a professional attitude in the workplace.  
  
"What do you mean?" Gil asked, daring a look in her direction.  
  
"Well, she wrapped saran wrap around her torso - and made Zachary apply the almond oil on her body -"  
  
" - which accounts for that weird rash on his hands." Gil interrupted.  
  
"Yeah, but how did she know he was going to bring it; we saw her remove it from his bag." Catherine finished.  
  
Both CSIs sat in silence, pondering Catherine's observations.   
  
"Just had a talk with one of my detectives." Jim muttered, upon entering the room. "Good guy - just too nervous." He shook his head. "So, what happened to Lover girl?" He sat down in Sasha's place, in front of both CSIs.  
  
"Went to get a lawyer . . ." Gil trailed off.   
  
"Well, we might want to put her on ice for awhile." Jim said, gaining their attention. "The fiancee, we just did a little check on her, and she just made a two hundred thousand deposit." He wiggled his eyebrows.  
  
"But that couldn't be life insurance - they weren't married yet." Catherine stated, confused.  
  
"Cash."   
  
"Aah...maybe someone didn't believe in the bank system?" Gil offered.   
  
"Care to have a chat with the 'bride-to-was'?" Jim asked, followed by the two grinning CSIs.  
  
***  
  
Jim and Catherine pulled up to the large mansion-like house. "200 hundred grand . . ." Catherine shook her head, eyeing the lavish home. They knocked on the door, observing the petite blonde who let them in.   
  
"Jenna Garber - er, I mean, Micheals." She giggled nervously, extending her hand, in introduction. "It's so hard to believe that he's gone." She sighed, sitting down on the white couch in the living room.  
  
"Did you know of Zachary's bachelor party?" Jim asked.   
  
Jenna shrugged. "There was mention, some of his buddies were taking him out." She toyed with her diamond engagement ring.   
  
The shrill ring of Catherine's cell interrupted the awkward silence, "hello?" She stepped into the kitchen, her eyes travelling the lush decor. "Gil." She paused and looked out into the sitting room. "Reeeeaaallly?" She grinned. "Thanks." She hung up, her ears buzzing from hearing his rich tenor voice. She stepped back into the lounge and sat beside Jim, waiting for Jenna to finish an anecdote describing her week.  
  
"Catherine?" Jim asked, noting her Cheshire smile.  
  
"Miss Micheals, do you know a Sasha Lover?" Catherine asked, already knowing the answer.   
  
Jenna smiled politely, shaking her head. "Never heard of her."  
  
Catherine stood confidently in front of the seated Jenna Micheals. "Well, I beg to differ." She retorted, playfully. «This is going to be fun!»  
  
–TBC-- 


	5. Bitter Smell of Truth

CHAPTER FIVE (R)  
  
-------------  
  
Jim stepped into the room, greeting Gil with a nod. "Okay, so Jenna Micheals is in there now with her lawyer." Jim stepped up to the one-way mirror and peered in. "Looks scared." His voice was monotonous, but his evil smirk won a small smile from the supervisor. "Ah, there's Catherine." He said, heading for the door. He glanced back at Gil and a questioning look washed over his face. "You okay?"  
  
Gil glanced at Jim briefly and then back at Catherine who was sitting in front of the suspect. His eyes travelled her form, and he winced inwardly, remembering the feel of her heated hand against his cheek. He gave Jim a look, which prompted the Captain to leave the interrogation for the suspect.  
  
Jim stepped in and took a seat beside Catherine. "Miss Micheals, your bank activity seems rather busy lately - care to explain?"  
  
Jenna glanced at her lawyer then back at Jim. "It was a present, from Zach." She stated plainly.   
  
Catherine's eyes travelled down to the woman's hands. She cocked her head to the side, observing the way she clutched her leather purse that was resting on the table.  
  
"A two hundred thousand dollar present?" Jim asked sarcastically. He paused, opting for a new tactic. "Now Miss Micheals, are you familiar with aphrodisiacs?"  
  
Jenna looked at her lawyer who only shrugged. "A few, yes. Zachary and I never had problems in bed." She stated, lips drawn tightly into a tense smile.  
  
"Have you ever shopped at Bad Attitude Boutique?" Jim asked, knowing her answer beforehand.  
  
"Of course not!" Jenna's grip on her purse tightened, and Catherine's eyes still stayed locked.   
  
Jim raised his eyebrows, dangling a photocopied receipt in front of her. He smiled when the lawyer snatched it out of his hands. "That is your credit card number and signature, is it not?" Jim smiled when silence filled the interrogation room. "Now that's the kind of answer I like to hear."  
  
"So, she bought almond oil - so what!" Her lawyer butted in. He leaned on the table. "Last time I checked, wanting to spice up your sex life wasn't a crime."  
  
"Well now, that depends whether murder gets you off, now doesn't it?" Catherine muttered. "Miss Micheals, can I see your ring?"  
  
Jenna glanced at Catherine uneasily. "Okay." She held out her left hand, wiggling her fingers slightly. "My engagement ring - Zach gave it to me." There was no emotion in her voice.   
  
"What happened to your fingers?" Catherine asked, gently turning over the suspect's hand.  
  
"It's just a rash." Jenna retracted her hand close to her body.  
  
"What do you think, Jim?" Catherine asked sweetly.  
  
"Oh, I think that it's very easy to purchase cyanide over the internet, mix it with some almond oil and then somehow get your future fiancé to ingest it." Jim shrugged. "But that's just me."  
  
Jenna's lawyer shook his head with a laugh. "Compelling story, Captain Brass. The only hard evidence you have is almond oil, and even at that it's not very incriminating. Half the population can buy almond oil for one reason or the other."  
  
"Yes, but it's -this-," he pointed at Jenna, "population that used it for murder."  
  
"You see, Miss Micheals thought things out very well. She took into consideration of the low percentage of people who can actually smell cyanide. So by mixing the poison, which I'm guessing to have been in powder form - easily soluble and the almond oil, she was able to guarantee that if Zachary had been able to detect cyanide, he would mistaken it for the bitter aroma of almonds." Catherine got up and walked to the mirror. Turning, she leaned against it, folding her arms across her chest.  
  
"So, what was your relation to Sasha Lover?" Jim asked, now taking Catherine's seat.  
  
***  
  
Gil stood in the room, his eyes glued to her back. He pressed his hand against the cool surface, letting his finger tips dance against the glass where her hair fell to her shoulders. His fingers still tingled from feeling her curls and he longed to hold her body against his. His hand streaked down the glass, stopping at the small of her back, where he kept it there, trying to draw energy through the surface.  
  
***  
  
Catherine straightened slightly, shivers running down her spine. Her breathing quickened and the noise in the room dulled, as she turned around slightly, staring into the mirror. Her eyes seemed to search her face, but her mind saw behind the glass - she knew he was there, she could feel his aura clash with hers. Catherine blinked a couple of times, and took a couple of steps backwards. She turned around, catching the suspect's last statement.  
  
" . . . he thought he was so clever, getting away with having an affair. But I knew." She let out a chuckle. "I could smell her on him . . ."  
  
"And what? You liked what you smelt?" Jim looked her in the eye.  
  
Jenna leaned back in her chair, surprised at the captain's observation. "I met her and . . . we hit it off."  
  
"And then you put out a hit for Zachary - to get him out of the way?"  
  
"We loved each other - Zach was always meddling." Jenna shook her head. "The money was just an added bonus - lucky bastard didn't believe in the bank system."   
  
"So, you and Sasha conspire to kill your fiance and then what, run off together?" Jim's sarcasm melted off his tongue. "Whatever twisted fairy tale suits your fancy."  
  
Jenna sighed. "If only she had applied the oil properly, she wouldn't have had a rash."  
  
Catherine motioned to her fingers. "And neither would you." She looked at the suspect. "You were there, watching him as he convulsed, as the cyanide infiltrated his system." She let out a sadden breath of air. "You even taped it."  
  
"We pulled your fingerprint off the lens." Jim muttered, before signalling the guard. "Oh, and put out an APB for Sasha Lover," he turned to Jenna, "maybe you two can get neighbouring cells."  
  
Catherine and Jim watched the officer escort Jenna Micheals out of the interrogation room, followed by her lawyer who merely shook his head. Catherine sat down on the chair and fiddled with her fingers. "The things people do for love." She glanced back at the window and rushed towards the door. Opening it, she glanced inside - only to be greeted by a silent, void space. She sighed, letting it close behind her. Walking up to the glass, she looked into the interrogation room, knowing that he had been here moments before. She placed her hand against the surface, feeling a slight warmth in certain areas. She pressed her palms together, allowing her forehead to lean against the cool glass.   
  
She opened the door and stood in the hall, contemplating her next move.  
  
–TBC– 


	6. Addiction

CHAPTER SIX (Strong R)  
  
--------------  
  
Catherine walked towards Gil's office, her mind set on settling things between them, sorting out their feelings once and for all. She quickened her steps and stepped into his office, observing him fiddle with a few files, trying to shove them into his briefcase. She walked up right behind him, feeling his energy surround her.  
  
Back turned, Gil didn't hear her come in, but a strange sense of serenity invaded his body, and he pressed his lips together trying to intercept the content that was surfacing; despite the contradicting momentary feelings, his heart ached for her and he knew that his smile would be lost in the folds of blinding pain. He finished packing his folders and snapped his briefcase shut, turning to make ends meet with his destination.  
  
Obstacle.  
  
Gil took a deep breath, closing his eyes calmly, trying to play off his surprise. "How long have you been standing there?"  
  
His voice was low, raspy and short of breath - an observation that made Catherine's insides buzz. She didn't understand her reaction to this man but she knew she could no longer fight him off. Eyebrow raised, she decided to take chance's leap, risk's fall and destiny's taunt. "We need to talk."  
  
Gil set his briefcase meticulously on the desk, emanating a manneurism that could only be deemed 'Grissomesque'. "Oh, is it that time already?" He asked, more hurt with his indifference then her reaction.   
  
She watched his left hand, beautiful - an artist's instrument, as it rested on top of his briefcase. Her eyes roamed to his other hand, where tension ran abound: balled up in a tight fist. Her eyes hopped to his, imploring him to listen, and she chanced a contact - taking his fist in both her hands in a desired attempt to rid his riddled tension. She guided him to his couch, leaving briefly to swing the door closed. Reaching him, she searched his eyes, ever darkening by the moment. "Why, Gil?" It was small, void of confidence.  
  
He glanced up from his floored gaze, meeting her eyes with a certain surprise directed towards her vulnerability. "Catherine..." Whispered with sincerity, his brow crumpled with a hint of fear.  
  
She knelt down in front of him, her hands desperation for his evident by her firm grip. "Didn't you feel it?" She paused, searching the ceiling for an answer. "Haven't you always felt it?"   
  
No answer broke, but affirmation grew in his eyes, and was complemented by a faint pressure given from his turn-tabled hold on her.  
  
"So why?" Unshed tears glistened from the bland ceiling lights.  
  
He finally found his voice, but chose to keep it coccooned in his throat. Silence dared not shy away, waiting out the development as much as both the bodies in the dimmed office. "I was afraid," A deep sigh allowed his next thought to travel, "still am."  
  
Catherine shook her head, resting her forehead against his knee. "I'm so tired, Gil..." She continued to speak to the floor, "so tired of flitting around our feelings." She got up, and took a seat beside him. "It felt so good." She couldn't deny the honesty in her mind, heart nor soul. She reached up to cup his face, and retracted her hand at the minute close-eyed flinch she felt.  
  
Her eyes dropped to her lap, a "sorry" tumbling out in hush.  
  
Gil wet his drying lips and took her hand in his, guiding it to his cheek where conflicting motives had just been displayed. "I've been independant my whole life, Cath." He placed a feather kiss on her wrist. "I'm afraid of not being able to let go..." His words were barely audible, but somehow found their way to her awaiting ears.  
  
Catherine glanced up, confused by his confession. "What?" Her tone matched his whispered level and she leaned in slightly, conveying a desire to understand...and a hope to be loved.  
  
He dared his hand to travel to her strawberry curls, and his hand accepted without consequence. His fingers sighed peacefully in her silkiness, and he allowed his thumb to travel, stroking her just underneath her earlobe. A morose smile paved way for his acceptance of his trust in her, and more importantly of hers in him. "Everyday, I see you, and my eyes crave more. Everyday I get a gentle caress of your aroma, and my nose demands more. Everyday I get the opportunity to hear you laugh, to feel you care... and my soul dies for more." He paused, his eyes unable to meet hers. "It's getting harder to fight my addiction, Catherine." He glanced at her, his voice hoping that a fool was not in the making.  
  
"Then don't fight it..." She pleaded with him. "You need me as much as I need you..." She began to reason, but stopped short, a small smile spreading across her lips as she interpreted his handsome blues.  
  
She straddled his waist - a position she soon began to love, and nipped at his lower lip, feeling her tummy flip as she incited moans deep within him. She let out an evil grin as she slid off his lap and on to the floor. Letting her hands dance near his belt buckle, she teasingly opened it, popping the button and pulling the fly down.  
  
"God Cath..." He exhaled, her being and memories forcing uncontrollable responses from his lower regions. He bucked wildly as her fingers grazed his length, prominent through his boxers. He raised his hips as he felt her tug at his boxers, and felt them glide down his legs, pooling along with his pants, near his ankles. Skin on skin never denied him pleasure, especially when heat was offered by a certain strawberry-blond, his co-worker, his best friend... his lover.  
  
Staring him straight in the eye, she massaged him with her palm, her fingers caressing him to ecstacy. She watched him tilt his head back and smiled; she was in need of release herself, but all that mattered was him - his happiness, his desires ... his love. She bent down, ready to take him into her mouth when the door suddenly flung open.  
  
"Hey Grissom, I need you to sign this form -" Sara glanced up from the sheet she was holding, and stopped short, hand still on the door knob. Eyes wide, she let them drift towards her supervisor's manhood and rested her gaze there, mouth ajar.  
  
Gil stuttered slightly, looking around for something to cover him up with. "I - ... uh..." He bent down, and grabbed Catherine by the waist, pulling her on to his lap.   
  
Catherine crossed her legs - prim and proper - smiling a little too innocently.  
  
***  
  
Without a word, eyes still aching to pop out of their sockets, Sara turned and exited, closing the door behind her, her hand still bonded to the door. She stared straight ahead, eyes slightly glazed over.   
  
***  
  
Catherine rolled her hips, a moan exhaled as she felt his hardness against her buttocks. She felt his arms snake around her waist, and allowed herself to be pulled back into his embrace. Resting the back of her head on his shoulder, a small smile blossomed upon feeling his lips caress her right temple. They sat, fused together for several silenced moments, comfort playing a key role when Gil finally began to slip his hands underneath her shirt. He traced abstract circles around her bellybutton and slowly slid on hand downwards. He thumbed the button of her slacks, gently undoing it.  
  
"Gil. . ." She panted his name, arching her back into his touch. She tilted her head back, her lips seeking the skin of his neck where upon she tried to quench her thirst for him; however, his being fueled her lust and she nipped at his neck, branding him.   
  
He stopped short of reaching his desired destination, allowing his hand to merely rest on her pelvis. A hidden grin hinted, feeling her move against his hand. A curious laugh interrupted the silence, "I can't believe Sara saw..." he paused, trying to find a term to best suit what had just happened, "--me--." He grimaced, trying to hide his blush.  
  
"How will you be able to look her in the eye now?" She asked, referring to the embarassing event that had just transpired.  
  
Gil grinned, nuzzling her neck. "I won't have to - I only have eyes for you, Cath." He felt her sigh a little and brought a hand up to her face. Tilting her cheek, he gazed into her eyes, wanting to convey his love to her. "Catherine... you are my heart."  
  
Catherine smiled, her lips seeking his. "Love you too, Gil." She mumbled against his deepened kiss. While still under his lipped command, Catherine rid herself of her pants and underwear, and sat on the couch, pulling Gil on top of her.   
  
***  
  
Nick and Greg were strolling by, when they spotted the brunette standing outside their supervisor's office. They paused and glanced at eachother. "Hey Sair..." Nick began.  
  
Sara held up her hand. "Shut up - visualizing."  
  
Nick and Greg shared a look and continued on their way, both trying to ignore the lust-drenched moans that were coming from the supervisor's office. Greg glanced back at her a second later, a meloncholic grin on his face. "I'm guessing that's about all she'll be able to do."   
  
--Finis-- 


End file.
